I was in Berlin to learn more about Henriette Herz. There is very little information available about her in English, even on the Internet. A brief Wikipedia entry tells us she lived in Berlin from 1764 to 1847, and was one of the first women to establish a salon in that city during the Jewish Emancipation.

A generation earlier, the Jewish philosopher Moses Mendelssohn kicked off the Jewish Enlightenment when he came out of the ghetto and engaged in regular philosophical discussions with his non-Jewish peers. Herz’s salon continued this tradition; her guests included Wilhelm and Alexander von Humboldt, Mirabeau, and the theologian Schleiermacher, who eventually persuaded Herz to convert to Protestantism. Moses Mendelssohn’s daughter, the novelist and translator Dorothea Schlegel, also attended the salon.

On arriving in Berlin, I had very few leads to guide my research. Apart from the Wikipedia entry, the only useful resource I could find online was a photograph of Herz’s grave with a caption indicating its location.

And so, on a quiet grey morning in Berlin, I found myself standing outside a rather neglected-looking cemetery in lower Kreuzberg with a sign on its front wall — Kirchhof Jerusalem und Neue Kirche — that matched the caption on the online photograph. The gates of the cemetery, however, were securely locked, and there wasn’t another soul in sight. I then remembered it was a public holiday in Berlin, Whitsun Monday.

I had travelled all the way from Australia to find Henriette’s grave, but now all I could do was look through the wrought-iron fence to the wild array of headstones and monuments inside, wondering if hers was amongst them. I made my way around the perimeter of the graveyard, trying to find a way in. Eventually, I came across a side-gate that didn’t appear to be locked. I pushed it open and, after checking there were no police or other authorities around (was it an offence to break into a cemetery in Berlin on a public holiday, I wondered?), I let myself in.

Soon I found myself surrounded by the implacable silence of the dead. Gravestones and memorials for Brechts, Bernsteins, and Fischers in various states of disrepair stared blankly back at me. After about twenty minutes searching, I came across the heavily signposted gravesite of Moses Mendelssohn’s grandson, the composer Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy. This discovery gave me hope that I must be getting close to Henriette.

But she eluded me. I wandered past grave after grave, straining to read the names on the heavily-weathered headstones. I started to wonder if I was even in the right cemetery.

A strange, but surprisingly peaceful, feeling came over me as I traipsed through this seemingly never-ending field of nineteenth-century bourgeois Jews. This feeling was accentuated by the fact I was the only one in the cemetery at that time. All I had for company was the rustle of the trees and an occasional flitting sparrow. At one point a nervous-looking squirrel crossed my path before scurrying away into the undergrowth.

I was just about to call off my search, when I decided to look in one last area. An unruly, heavily-overgrown section in the cemetery’s south-eastern corner that didn’t look at all promising. It had no signage, only a few small headstones, and was almost completely covered by weeds.

Then, behind a large tree, I saw it. Henrietta’s grave, just as it had appeared online, with its headstone and cross rendered in dark, charcoal-grey marble. In front of her grave, rather impudently, lay an empty beer bottle, a indignity I found quite discomfiting given all the trouble I had undergone to come and pay my respects.

Still, at least I could be alone with her now. I felt like a detective who has just solved a major crime, or an archeologist who has unearthed a long-forgotten relic. I sat down before the resting place of the woman I had been imagining for the past two years, where she had been lying, undisturbed, for more than two centuries. There was a small sign at the foot of her grave. It read:

(Henriette Herz 5.9.1764 to 22.10.1847. Salonnière. She led a famous literary salon. Wife of the philosopher and physician Marcus Herz.

After spending a good hour silently communing with Henriette, I slowly walked back through the cemetery grounds, and on to the noisy, jostling Kreuzberg streets outside.

]]>https://warrenkward.com/2017/06/11/searching-for-henriette-herz/feed/6wward22013IMG_3319IMG_3047IMG_3060IMG_3063IMG_3071IMG_3075Doing a Structural Edithttps://warrenkward.com/2016/05/02/doing-a-structural-edit/
https://warrenkward.com/2016/05/02/doing-a-structural-edit/#commentsMon, 02 May 2016 13:10:35 +0000http://warrenkward.com/?p=379Continue reading →]]>Recently a writer friend of mine asked if I could read through his manuscript and provide him with some feedback.

On taking on this task, I decided it was time for me to really try to understand what is involved in a structural edit. I figured looking at the overall structure of my friend’s work would be the best way I could help him.

I knew deep down it would also be a good exercise for me, because when I try to edit my own work I invariably get stuck at the level of the sentence rather than standing back to consider the big picture, the overall narrative of the story.

And I’ve read many times that once you’ve finished a first draft, the next thing you should do is a structural edit. It’s no use finely editing sentences that may never see the light of day in the final edit.

For what it’s worth, this is how I am approaching my first attempt at a structural edit of another writer’s manuscript:

Print out the whole manuscript and bind it (if I edit on a computer screen the tendency to copy-edit every second sentence becomes too tempting)

Find a nice place, away from my usual writing workspace, to sit down and read the manuscript, just as I would with any book I was looking forward to reading

Read through the manuscript as fast as I can to get sense of the flow of the work (this is really important for a reader such as me, who generally likes to read slowly and carefully)

Keep a pencil handy to make notes in the margin (but in my case I keep the pencil just out of reach so I only bother to note stuff that really matters; otherwise I have a tendency to over-edit)

Give myself a few pages to settle into the writer’s world. I often find, even with the best books, it takes me a few pages to get my bearings and get used to their way of telling their story. Having said that, in these days of shortish attention spans and competition with social media and click-bait, it is important that the opening pages are engaging, fresh and free of clunky grammar and typographical errors.

The most important thing of all for me is to read the manuscript as a reader rather than as a writer. I take note of when I am being drawn into the story, when I’m hurriedly turning pages and when I’m feeling totally immersed in the world the author has created. I also note when my attention lags, and when things don’t feel natural. If I suddenly become aware of the presence of the writer, that’s usually a bad sign. In the best writing (except for some literary and avant-garde works), the writer is invisible.

I’m sure professional editors would have a much longer list of what to consider when doing a structural edit. Even though I’m only part way through the one I’m doing, I can already tell it will have immeasurable benefits when I return to editing my own manuscript. The manuscript that sits patiently in my drawer waiting for me to return to it.

I’d love to hear your thoughts about structural editing.

]]>https://warrenkward.com/2016/05/02/doing-a-structural-edit/feed/2wward22013Essay on Sartre wins Writers’ Awardhttps://warrenkward.com/2016/04/25/essay-on-sartre-wins-writers-award/
https://warrenkward.com/2016/04/25/essay-on-sartre-wins-writers-award/#commentsSun, 24 Apr 2016 22:52:59 +0000http://warrenkward.com/?p=293Continue reading →]]>I was thrilled to be told recently that my essay ‘50,000 at a funeral’, about the funeral of Jean-Paul Sartre, has won a New Philosopher Writers’ Award. As a result, it will be published in the upcoming May 2016 edition of New Philosopher magazine.

I remember the first time I saw this bright new beautifully designed magazine. It was a few years ago in a pie shop in Byron Bay, of all places, and I was delighted to see such an inviting-looking publication about philosophy and ideas, rather than celebrities, movie stars, diets and trivia. Since its first edition on the 5th August 2013, the magazine has gone from strength to strength, increasing its distribution to outlets across Australia, the UK and North America.

A little while ago I went to a talk by the editors, Zan Boag and Antonia Case, hosted by my favourite local bookstore Avid Reader. At this talk, Zan and Antonia explained how the idea for the magazine came to them whilst travelling through South America. They have shown by example that if you have a dream, and are willing to work at it, amazing things – like this magazine – can happen.

If you want to know more about New Philosopher, go to their website here.

]]>https://warrenkward.com/2016/04/25/essay-on-sartre-wins-writers-award/feed/3wward22013The Leopard by Tomasi Di Lampedusahttps://warrenkward.com/2016/03/22/the-leopard-by-tomasi-di-lampedusa/
https://warrenkward.com/2016/03/22/the-leopard-by-tomasi-di-lampedusa/#commentsTue, 22 Mar 2016 12:56:37 +0000http://warrenkward.com/?p=285Continue reading →]]>I started reading this book whilst on a holiday in Sicily late last year, and it beautifully portrays the unique world of that ancient island, a land of abandoned statues, overflowing gardens, bright baking sunlight, olives, lemons, flowers and pomegranates. Lampedusa’s classic work also helped me to better understand the lifestyle and attitudes of many Sicilians – slow, unhurried, suspicious of modernity and the mainland. Set in the mid-1800s, this work is a sad and nostalgic account of the last vestiges of aristocracy before the descent of democracy on to the reluctant island-state. The author, described in the book’s front blurb as a ‘literary dilettante’, wrote the book in his early sixties in 1957, just before he died of lung cancer. In a poignant parallel to the author’s imminent demise, the account in the book of the last dying hours of the protagonist Don Fabrizio is as fine a piece of writing as I’ve ever seen. Deserves the accolade of classic in my view.]]>https://warrenkward.com/2016/03/22/the-leopard-by-tomasi-di-lampedusa/feed/1wward22013leopardReading your book aloud in publichttps://warrenkward.com/2015/10/22/reading-your-book-aloud-in-public/
https://warrenkward.com/2015/10/22/reading-your-book-aloud-in-public/#commentsWed, 21 Oct 2015 14:05:13 +0000http://warrenkward.com/?p=281Continue reading →]]>Earlier this year I was invited by Krissy Kneen, events coordinator at my favourite bookstore, Avid Reader, to read from my work-in-progress Lovers of Philosophy at a salon event. Krissy, who is a fantastic author in her own right, invited me and other emerging writers Meg Vann and Rebekah Turner to read from our works to help launch Stephanie Bishop’s ‘The Other Side of the World’ (Hachette Australia Books).

Here are some of Aimée’s helpful tips for reading your work out aloud:

Select an appropriate passage

It needs to be self-contained enough to work as a stand-alone read

It should have a small cast – no more than 4 characters including the narrator

End on a cliffhanger if you can (You want to leave your audience wanting more)

Read the passage out aloud before the big event

There’s nothing like reading your writing out aloud to sharpen your editing eye. Get rid of clunk and make sure your prose is clear and rhythmically pleasing

Warm up your voice and your body

As all singers know, your voice is a physical instrument and resonates and projects much better if you do some deep breathing, vocalising and other exercises before you go on stage. Especially considering how much nervousness can pinch off your vocal cords and make you sound like Elmer Fudd.

On the big day, read SLOWLY

Remember. No-one has heard your amazing words before. Read SLOWLY so the audience can hear them and follow your story. Consider using slightly different tones or inflections of your voice for different characters (but don’t overdo this). Pause for effect where appropriate.

Have fun!

I made this one up. But having done a couple of readings now, I can vouch that there is nothing more enjoyable than reading your words as if you want others to hear them, and hearing their gasps, expectant silences and laughs. As writers we all want to share our imagined worlds with others so that they can be transported to another place, another time, another world. that IS the magic of writing. A public reading allows you as a writer to have a rare and precious experience – hearing readers’ reactions to your work in a public setting – after all reading is usually a private activity.

]]>https://warrenkward.com/2015/10/22/reading-your-book-aloud-in-public/feed/7wward22013Snow Crash by Neal Stephenson: A Brief Book Reviewhttps://warrenkward.com/2015/06/15/snow-crash-by-neal-stephenson-a-brief-book-review/
https://warrenkward.com/2015/06/15/snow-crash-by-neal-stephenson-a-brief-book-review/#respondMon, 15 Jun 2015 12:57:18 +0000http://warrenkward.com/?p=277Continue reading →]]>Hmmm. I was a bit underwhelmed by this book that I was told was a classic of post-cyberpunk. It was the first of Stephenson’s books I’d read – he’d been recommended to me by a couple of people in my book club as a master of his genre.

I should declare I’m more a lover of literary fiction than genre fiction, but I like to think I’m open-minded to good writing, whatever its form. There’s no doubt the author has a a vivid and rich imagination, and his ability to predict the online virtual future way back in 1993 when he wrote this is pretty impressive, but I found reading the book a bit of a struggle to be honest. The biggest problem was I couldn’t really get myself worked up to care about the two-dimensional cartoon-like characters.

Having said that, the author’s exploration in this book of the origins of language in the ancient Sumerian and Babylonian civilisations, and how he neatly ties that up with the binary machine code that underlies all computers, including, in this account, the brain, was fascinating.

]]>https://warrenkward.com/2015/06/15/snow-crash-by-neal-stephenson-a-brief-book-review/feed/0wward22013My interview with Heidegger’s sonhttps://warrenkward.com/2015/06/07/my-interview-with-heideggers-son/
https://warrenkward.com/2015/06/07/my-interview-with-heideggers-son/#commentsSun, 07 Jun 2015 12:23:05 +0000http://warrenkward.com/?p=258Continue reading →]]>By far the most memorable experience I have had whilst conducting research for Lovers of Philosophy has been meeting Hermann Heidegger, the 93-year-old son of Martin Heidegger.

My hotel in Freiburg

Freiburg

Martin Heidegger, one of the seven philosophers whose love life I explore in my book Lovers of Philosophy, was one of the most influential and controversial philosophers of the twentieth century.

The Freiburg Münster Cathedral

My meeting with Heidegger’s elderly son came about totally by accident. I say that, but one thing I have noticed is that ever since I have followed my dreams in researching and writing this book, strange coincidences keep favouring me.

The Black Forest

This is how the meeting occurred…

In January 2013, I went to the inaugural meeting of a discussion group in my home town of Brisbane for psychiatrists interested in philosophy. When I arrived, there was only one other person there. I introduced myself and it turned out this gentleman was German. I told him I was writing about the love lives of seven European philosophers, including four Germans – Kant, Hegel, Nietzsche and Heidegger. His response at that point staggered me.

He said, ‘My mother knows Heidegger’s son.’

A Freiburg Street

My jaw dropped. I couldn’t believe it. I had been reading about Heidegger’s life for the last three years – about his philosophy that anticipated existentialism, about his controversial joining of the Nazi Party during the war. And about his extramarital love affair with his Jewish philosophy student Hannah Arendt, who went on to become one of the twentieth century’s most articulate critics of totalitarianism.

The psychiatrist explained that he was from Freiburg, where the Heideggers lived. And yes, he thought his mother might be able to arrange an introduction.

Two months later I was on a twenty-seven-hour flight from Brisbane to Frankfurt. From there I caught the train south to Freiburg, where I checked into a quaint but very welcoming hotel. I explained to the very friendly reception staff that I only wanted to speak German for the week I was there. They good-naturedly agreed to grant my request, even though my very limited vocabulary and mangled grammar must have grated on them. I also mentioned that I was in town to visit Heidegger’s son, and they knew immediately of which family I was speaking. The receptionist even knew where the Heideggers lived.

Freiburg turned out to be an incredibly picturesque university town, its cobblestone streets teeming with students, bicycles and bookshops. The towering gothic spire of the town’s central cathedral, known as the Münster, dominated the modest skyline of the town, which itself was nestled at the very edge of the Schwarzwald (Black Forest). Before leaving Brisbane, I had booked a German language teacher to meet with me every day in Freiburg to improve my rudimentary acquaintance with the local language. I had also booked an interpreter for the upcoming interview with the great philosopher’s son.

When the day for the interview came, I put on my suit and caught a taxi to the Heideggers’ home, a small and modest but welcoming cottage on the outskirts of Freiburg. There were quite a few green farm fields scattered here and there around the sparsely developed settlement known as Attental, in which they lived. There was a thick layer of grey fog in the air that day, and everything felt a little surreal as the taxi pulled up outside the address I had been given. But the interpreter Katherina and I were immediately put at ease by the warm reception granted to us by the spritely 93-year-old who greeted us. Hermann Heidegger introduced himself, his wife Jutta and his son Arnulf.

In Hermann Heidegger’s modest lounge-room I got to hear about his childhood memories. Memories of his father insisting on quiet whilst he worked away at his desk. Memories of attending a Hitler rally when he was only twelve years old. This was on the 29th July, 1932, when Hitler addressed a crowd of 50,000 people in Freiburg’s local football stadium. Hermann’s mother, Elfride, had dressed him and his brother Jörg up in their best slacks, white shirt and tie before taking them to the rally. Hermann explained to me that his father, Martin, didn’t attend the rally because, unlike his mother, he wasn’t that interested in politics. He preferred to work on his philosophy.

Hermann also shared with me his memories of how, after the Nazis had taken power, his father got caught up in the stressful to-and-fro of politics regarding the local university’s administration. It was then that Martin Heidegger took an action that would see him come under heavy criticism for decades to come – he joined the Nazi Party.

In that lounge-room I also saw Heidegger’s 93-year-old son going soft in the face, as if he were a child again, as he recalled some of the more tender and personal memories from his childhood days. Memories such as boating down the Rhineland’s famous rivers with his father. And playing in the snow with his brother outside Die Hütte, the forest hut that the family regularly retreated to during their holidays.

I heard about Heidegger’s friendship with the philosopher Edmund Husserl, who was Jewish and therefore excluded from Freiburg University by the Nazis at the time that Heidegger was Rector (or Dean). Hermann showed me a letter that his mother wrote to Husserl’s wife, Malvine, on the 29th April, 1933, expressing sympathy and concern about how the war was affecting them. Despite their political differences, the two families were still on friendly terms, at least according to the account Hermann Heidegger provided to me on that day.

I feel very privileged to have been able to conduct this interview, extracts of which I plan to include in my upcoming book Lovers of Philosophy.

]]>https://warrenkward.com/2015/06/07/my-interview-with-heideggers-son/feed/3wward22013IMG_2766IMG_2859IMG_2786IMG_2857IMG_2769Lovers of Philosophy accepted into 2015 HARDCOPY programhttps://warrenkward.com/2015/05/01/lovers-of-philosophy-accepted-into-2015-hardcopy-program/
https://warrenkward.com/2015/05/01/lovers-of-philosophy-accepted-into-2015-hardcopy-program/#respondFri, 01 May 2015 11:44:20 +0000http://warrenkward.com/?p=255Continue reading →]]>I’ve just heard some wonderful news. I am one of 30 lucky writers to be selected into the HARDCOPY professional development program for Australian writers.

But that’s not all! Along with the other winners I will be heading to Canberra later this month for a three-day project/manuscript development intensive masterclass with professional freelance editor Nadine Davidoff.

In September, I’ll be invited back to the nation’s capital for ‘Intro2industry’, a three-day seminar on all facets of the publishing industry.

Ten of the 30 applicants will proceed in November to Round 2 of the program, which involves one-on-one consultations with publishers.

I’m very grateful for this wonderful opportunity to further develop my manuscript and writing skills. And of course, I can’t wait to meet the other emerging writers and hear about their projects. I’ve already found one of my fellow winners on the blogosphere – Michelle Scott Tucker.

Thank you to the ACT Writers Centre who run the HARDCOPY program. My thanks also to The ACT Government and the Australia Council who support this program.

]]>https://warrenkward.com/2015/05/01/lovers-of-philosophy-accepted-into-2015-hardcopy-program/feed/0wward22013HARDCOPY+tag_CMYK_workingFirst public reading of Lovers of Philosophyhttps://warrenkward.com/2015/01/30/first-public-reading-of-lovers-of-philosophy/
https://warrenkward.com/2015/01/30/first-public-reading-of-lovers-of-philosophy/#respondFri, 30 Jan 2015 13:47:36 +0000http://warrenkward.com/?p=249Continue reading →]]>It’s my pleasure to announce that on Saturday the 7th February I’ll be doing my first public reading from my work-in-progress Lovers of Philosophy.

This will be at a free salon event hosted by the Queensland Writers Centre (QWC). Thank you Aimeé Lindorf and all the crew at QWC for supporting emerging writers such as myself, and giving us an opportunity to share our work.

]]>https://warrenkward.com/2015/01/30/first-public-reading-of-lovers-of-philosophy/feed/0-27.454914 153.007130-27.454914153.007130wward22013The Sorbonne – Simone de Beauvoir’s universityhttps://warrenkward.com/2014/10/12/the-sorbonne-simone-de-beauvoirs-university/
https://warrenkward.com/2014/10/12/the-sorbonne-simone-de-beauvoirs-university/#respondSun, 12 Oct 2014 06:15:26 +0000http://warrenkward.com/?p=216Continue reading →]]>The last stop of my visit to Paris exploring the old haunts of the French philosophers is the Sorbonne. A beautiful and ancient large sandstone building, it dominates the Latin Quarter’s bustling urban terrain of cafés, bookshops and boutiques.

My daughter Alex and I first spot it while riding northwards towards the Seine on the wide arterial of St Michel Boulevard, along with Paris’s other peak hour traffic of motor scooters, bicycles, Citroens, Peugeots and pedestrians. We gasp at the sight of it rising up to our right, its majestic features brought into spectacular contrast by the rays of the setting sun.

Simone de Beauvoir was a student at this venerable institution in 1929 when she met Jean-Paul Sartre. It was here that she studied for and passed the agrégation, the highly competitive national examinations in philosophy. Passing this entitled her to lifelong tenure teaching philosophy in France’s high schools. By 1943, however, she had managed to lose this privilege in scandalous circumstances when a parent complained she and her partner Jean-Paul Sartre had both seduced their teenage daughter while she was Beauvoir’s student. Beauvoir and Sartre had got away with such behaviour previously with other students, but on this occasion it led to Beauvoir having her teaching licence permanently revoked. This sanction didn’t have much of a negative impact on Beauvoir’s life, however, as by this time she had had developed a considerable reputation as a writer and as Jean-Paul Sartre’s celebrity partner and co-spokesperson for the new philosophy of existentialism.

The Sorbonne, founded in the mid-12th century, was one of the very first universities to be established in Europe, and has been a centre of intellectual activity in Paris ever since.

More recently, the Sorbonne was the central stage for the notorious uprisings that brought Paris to a standstill in May 1968. These protests, which began with students occupying the Sorbonne’s buildings in response to government policies about university administration, spread like wildfire amongst other students, teachers and workers throughout France culminating in a general strike of a staggering ten million workers. Throughout the weeks of civil disorder that took France to the brink of collapse, the Sorbonne became a battleground for bitter hand-to-hand fighting between students and riot police. Makeshift barricades of furniture, cars and street debris were erected by the Left Bank’s protesting students just as they had been in the French Revolution two hundred years earlier. For several days, the whole country held its breath, fearful of a another revolution, until eventually a very rattled President de Gaulle accepted the resignation of his Prime Minister Georges Pompidou and called for a general election, finally diffusing the mutinous mood in the streets.

Today, my hopes of exploring the interior of this venerable institution are frustrated by a uniformed security officer guarding the entrance. So I resign myself to taking in the view from the outside as a steady stream of students and teachers come in and out. In front of the building, the Place de la Sorbonne — a large busy square open to the public — is abuzz with young students milling among its sidewalk cafés and bookshops. A sign that says Libraire Philosophie announces a bookshop devoted solely to philosophical texts, a sight I have seen more than once on this trip to Paris but never in my home country of Australia. The bookstore appears to be connected with the university, as it has a poster announcing the Sorbonne’s philosophical courses and the associated recommended reading. The philosophy of Sartre and his philosophical predecessor Martin Heidegger feature heavily. Phenomenology and existentialism still appear to be fashionable in this part of town.

As I bask in the beauty of this glorious building and its changing colours in the fading sunset, it occurs to me that all the places in which Sartre and Beauvoir studied, wrote, dined, drank, conversed and made love during their years as Paris’s favourite intellectuals are within walking distance of this square. They were even buried only a stroll away in the Cimetière Montparnasse.

In front of the aforementioned bookshop, I catch sight of two young lovers deep in an embrace. I imagine that Sartre and Beauvoir would have sometimes met in this exact place during the heady early days of their lifelong love affair.

I grab my camera, thinking the scene before me might just be a perfect cover for the book I have recently finished writing – Lovers of Philosophy – about the love lives of Sartre and other influential European thinkers.

I wonder, as I capture these two paramours on film outside the philosophy bookshop, could they be a Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir of the future?